


sun sets, moon follows

by cighail



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alien things, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cighail/pseuds/cighail
Summary: you sleep, you wake, you workand occasionally, fate decides that it's going make you suffer-but that doesn't mean the world's ending,just that another day has passed.(a few days in the life of Ianto Jones, snippets of text and fluff that I've strung together messily, basically)





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello um  
> new writ er here
> 
> i hope this is alright um  
> yes

**Sunday night.**

 

“I can’t sleep.” Jack tells Ianto one night as they walk back to the Hub side by side, hands in their pockets and arms brushing against one another ever so slightly. 

“You can’t?” 

“Not for long,” he shrugs his shoulders as they walk past a local market, stalls still brightly lit as the last remaining customers open up their wallets. “I’m just not very good at it.”

“Since when?” Ianto asks bemusedly, turning to look at him with a small frown. Jack laughs softly and leans in, bumping his hip against Ianto’s side.

“I don’t know.” he sighs, looking down and watching their footsteps fall into steady rhythm together. Jack’s used to aimless wandering, but it’s always better with someone by his side. “After Boeshane and the Time Agency…” He trails off, eyes unfocused and distant. It didn’t matter how much time had passed since then- the haunting memories of what happened on that day were too much to forget, let alone reminisce about. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Ianto says quickly and, judging by the worried look in his round blue eyes, he doesn’t want to think about it either. He takes Jack’s hand in his, squeezing tightly as he suddenly quickens his pace, averting his eyes while Jack stares into the palm of his hand. 

“Well?” Ianto raises an eyebrow at him, a nervous smile playing about his lips. “Don’t we have somewhere to go?” he nods in mute reply, eyes still locked onto their intertwined fingers and they continue their stroll.

 

Unbeknownst to him Jack laughs, and after a moment of silence, squeezes back.

 

\- - - 

 

Ianto usually sleeps, though, and rather soundly too. Jack watches him often in the dim light of his bunker as Ianto’s chest rises and falls under soft cotton blankets, feet tucked in and arms flung haphazardly across his abdomen, fingers curled up against bare skin. Every breath he takes tickles the nape of Jack’s neck and ever so often Ianto will shift slightly, murmur incoherent sentences into his hair, fingers digging deeper into Jack’s skin and embedding marks into his side. Those are the bad days- though he can count them as good ones too, since Jack gets to wrap his own arms around Ianto’s shivering figure and murmur in his ear; tell him he’s okay, tell him he’s not alone. 

 

He manages to make out a few words of Ianto’s sleep-talking that night, and it’s twelve in the morning when Ianto’s peaceful slumber is interrupted by the sound of faint thunder as a storm outside the Hub rages on.

“Help.” Ianto whispers suddenly, going stiff as he clutches Jack’s body. “Help, someone please I need-” 

“Ianto?” Jack raises his head at the noise, firmly grasping an arm that’s currently flung over his body. 

“I- everyone’s ha- I can’t- breathe-” Ianto’s muttering grows faster - louder even, and mumbles turn into sharp breaths as he cries out, eyes sealed shut. Jack turns to him quickly, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek and presses their foreheads together.

“Hey.” he whispers, breath ghosting against Ianto’s cheeks. “It’s okay.” Ianto’s shuddering stops and he gasps instead, pulling Jack closer and burying his face into the crook of his neck. 

“Jack.” he rasps, breath hot against Jack’s chest. “Oh, _Jack_.”

“You’re okay,” Jack murmurs in a soothing voice, stroking his hair. “I’m here.” 

 

He waits in silence, threading his fingers through Ianto’s mussed brown strands, listening to his harsh breathing as his grip on Jack loosens and the harsh intakes of breath fall into regular rhythm again.

 

\- - - 

 

It’s Monday morning when Ianto wakes, stirring amidst cotton blanket folds as a lamp’s glow flickers in the darkness and brightens up the room. Jack’s already awake, buttoning up a light blue shirt in the corner, pants undone. 

“Hullo,” Ianto manages awkwardly, sitting up with white sheets pulled up against his waist. “Jack.” he adds unnecessarily.

“Hey.” His boss replies with a small smile, turning to gaze at Ianto’s drowsy figure. His voice has a husky quality to it, and morning breath still lingers in his throat as he walks up to the younger man.

“Time?” Ianto mumbles, blearily running a hand through his hair. He turns his head to look at the alarm clock on the beside table, eyes snapping open as he does so. “ _Shit-_ ”

He’s up before Jack can ask what’s wrong, practically scrambling out of his narrow bed with the same wide-eyed expression of fear plastered across Ianto’s face as he makes his way to a well ironed suit at Jack’s table; one that he had prepared the night before, knowing that circumstance and lust would definitely make his already rumpled suit more distinctly disheveled.

“Well _you’re_ in a hurry.” Jack notes, eyebrows raised at all the sudden movement Ianto is making as he snatches up a navy blue blazer and frantically gets dressed.  
  
“It’s seven!” Ianto hisses, the partly transparent fabric of his white dress-shirt covering up the naked chest Jack admires with a wistful gaze. “Tosh is going to arrive in _minutes_ , I swear if I’m late I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Jack walks over and in one swooping motion, puts an arm around him and pulls him close. “What’ll you do?” he grins drowsily, eyes still half-lidded. There’s no reply from Ianto- only an annoyed and slightly flustered look in his eyes as his face heats up, hints of red spreading through his neck and cheeks. 

“I’ll forget to make your industrial strength coffee.” he manages after a few moments, before gently pushing him away to do up his trousers. A look of real fear flashes in Jack’s eyes before it’s replaced with his signature laugh as he leans against the edge of his desk, watching Ianto dress.

 

\- - -

 

Toshiko waits outside the Hub expectantly with a look of bewilderment shadowed in her smile as Ianto stumbles through the beaded curtain, toothbrush in hand.

“Sleep well?” she asks gently. 

“Rough night.” Ianto replies almost absentmindedly, watching as Tosh’s gentle smile twists into a more puzzled frown and suddenly regretting his choice of words.

“There were a lot of things to sort in the Archives.” he continues quickly, hoping in vain that Tosh’s brilliant but sickening mind won’t try and piece things together. 

“Where did you sleep?” she questions instead, eyes hovering over the toothbrush that has an uncanny resemblance to the one Jack would always have in his mouth on lazy Monday mornings.

“On the-” Ianto hesitates for a split second, before spluttering out, “couch.” and almost slamming his fist against the small red button embedded into his desk.

“I see.” Tosh nods, a look of suspicion still lingering on her face as she strides past him and into the Hub. Ianto sighs, rearranging his messily done up tie, before heading in himself.

 

He used to be better at lying.

 

* * *

 

**Wednesday.**

 

“But whenever you _do_ sleep,” Ianto continues the conversation two nights later, sat up in his bed early in the morning, arms folded across Jack’s broad chest as it rises and falls. “Do you dream?”  
Jack gazes at him softly, reaching forward to brush away the messy strands of hair covering Ianto’s deep blue eyes with a smile. “Sometimes.” 

“About what?” Jack shrugs, running a hand through his own hair before contemplating whether or not he should tell Ianto about the daleks on Satellite 5, the blood-curdling screams in Boeshane that would never leave his memory, or, more recently, the Year that Never Was. 

“Planets,” he says instead. “Galaxies.”

“Been to any fun ones?” 

Jack laughs, lolling his head back to look up at the painted yellow ceiling. “Naturally.” 

Ianto’s gentle smile matches his own, tracing invisible circles into his skin. His fingers are warm to the touch, each lazily constructed shape sending pleasant shivers up Jack’s spine. There’s something about the way they lie together in silence, breathing together as the sun rises over Cardiff and showering the place in an almost ethereal glow, that makes time shudder to a halt.

“What were they like?” he asks softly. A smile tugs at the corners of Jack’s lips as he remembers the sound of tinkling laughter; chimes in the wind as he dances, the smell of faded red leather and cowboy boots on his skin and running across a dusky red beach with water that stretches for miles, hands intertwined with a girl who’s translucent skin and shimmering purple dress would never be forgotten.

 

Then a clock’s second hand twitches in a corner of the room and Jack pretends he can’t feel the fear tugging at his stomach, or the rising memory of pain and hurt that rips into his faded wounds. The girl’s song is interrupted by the sound of gunfire as people open fire onto the beach. Laughter is muffled by silent screaming and there is barely enough time to think before the girl in the purple dress is dead, the coastguard is dead, everyone is dead and blue sand is drenched in red blood.

 

Jack pulls him close, pulls Ianto closer as if they weren’t already as close as two could be, breathing in the smell of his ruffled brown hair and lets the feeling of warmth and life engulf him while it can.

 

“Oh, Ianto.” he murmurs. “Nothing good lasts forever.”

 

\- - -

 

It takes another half hour of silence before they start to move; Ianto pushing himself off Jack's partially dozing figure, feet padding along the small corridor of his narrow flat as he makes his way to the bathroom. Another lazy day makes for another round of half-hearted gestures and drowsy coffee brewing, and before Jack can even roll out of bed the smell of ground coffee beans and eggs cooking in the kitchen waft their way to his nose.

"How?" Jack mutters to himself confusedly, as the shriek of a kettle snaps him out of daydream-induced stupor. He stumbles off the edge of Ianto’s bed, stiff toes crunching the carpeted floor, and traces his path. 

 

Ianto’s living room is a little messier than expected, magazines strewn across a coffee table, empty mugs filling up the spaces that the papers haven’t already occupied. Before Jack gets chance to observe the rest of the room, an odd sizzling sound that had been in the background for the past few minutes stops and Ianto appears out of the kitchen holding a pan in his usual business attire.

“So,” he raises an eyebrow, lips quirking a smile. “Are we eating or not?”

 

(“This is oddly domestic.” Ianto notes as he watches Jack push scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Hey,” Jack laughs, hands methodically slicing his burnt toast into halves. “As long as I’m fed.”)

 

\- - -

 

They walk in, half an hour late, Jack first and Ianto following with a stack of fresh A4 paper in hand. No one really says anything but Owen raises a questioning eyebrow at Gwen, who in turn sends him a wide eyed look. Tosh stands abruptly, looking up at her monitor once their conversation goes quiet, before noticing her boss standing awkwardly at the entrance of the Hub.

 

“Good morning.” Ianto breaks the silence with a nod.

“Hey!” Gwen’s cheerful reply sets the team back in motion and they scatter, Owen moving hastily back to his computer screen to mumble about the anomalies in a Weevil victim’s medical report. Jack’s cheerful grin and alacritous gestures dismiss every subtle question Gwen and Tosh throw at him, and Owen’s snarky comments are carefully deflected by Ianto’s blunt, evasive replies. 

Breakfast? Yes, had it. Toast and egg. It was good, thanks.

You know I’m always out getting new cleaning supplies to wipe up the mess at your desk- I provide those coffee coasters for a reason, Owen.

 

“I thought you practically lived here, Jack.” Tosh frowns, staring at her monitor as alien languages dip in and out of translation, filling the screen with ripples of english and alien symbols. The screen glows as it works through each letter, decrypting their messages within milliseconds. 

“Still do.” Jack shrugs. “I took a walk, that’s all. Can’t I do anything by myself?”

Ianto can’t help it as he walks into earshot of the conversation. “No, because you’d end up getting killed for no reason.” he replies bluntly as he passes Tosh’s monitor. “Tosh, mind passing me those decryption files for the Crustakorlian literature we found last night?”

“The wot?” Gwen gapes as the computer technician nods, passing Ianto sheet after sheet of alien translations with an enthusiastic smile.

“They’re similar to crustaceans,” Jack explains quickly, “Great beaches, but the food is less so.” before turning to Ianto with a frown. “I don’t get myself killed all the time.”

“You’re a walking meat shield.” Ianto continues, flashing him a subtle smirk. It lasts for all but two seconds- a mere twitch that tugs at the corners of his lips, but Jack notices it all the same.

Tosh clears her throat to speak before he can come up with a good comeback. 

 

“Shouldn’t we all be working on something?” she smiles. 

 

\- - -

 

(Wednesday evening.)

 

Two hours later Ianto’s stumbling through trees and bushes, swallowing the mixture of fear and pain lodged in his throat as whispered cackles of another life-threatening alien species threatens to rip his throat out. It’s funny how such a pleasant morning coupled with eggs and burnt toast can turn into a horrifically nightmarish chase in the woods by strange ‘shadow creatures’ (as dubbed by Owen), whose voices have a similar quality to rubbing uncut nails across a chalkboard. Though this _is_ Torchwood, Ianto thinks to himself as he curses his past self for deciding to wear his favourite pair of shoes for this particular excursion, watching despairingly as the polished heels become flicked with dirt and god-knows-what. His regret is soon replaced by fear, however, as a whispering cackle is breathed into his ear and he shivers in disgust. _Monsters_ , Ianto shakes his head, discarding the thought of clean shoes. _This can’t be worse than the countryside._

 

_“This one smells like blood.”_ breath ghosts across his neck and he turns sharply, aiming his gun at the empty clearing. 

_“Don’t they all?”_ Wet shadows morph into amalgams of human parts, and Ianto tries to recall any of Jack’s advice during the briefing whilst firing bullets into its twisting figure. It’s hard to remember anything whilst emptying out a Glock’s components into a mysterious alien creature while it tries to kill you, though, and - _rather embarrassingly_ , Ianto thinks - the only thing he can actually remember is the feeling of Jack’s hands squeezing his own in reassurance before Owen yells for the both of them to ‘hurry up before the aliens inhabit the entire planet’.

  _“You smelt wrong, idiot.”_ the alien shadow’s voice falters as Ianto dodges a strange mass of heavily compressed darkness that zooms above his head, ripping through the bark of a tree a meter away. The oak’s branches groan as wood splinters into smithereens at the base of the tree. _“He smells like dirt.”_

_“S’that so?”_ the other amalgamate of shadows replies, its voice dangerously close to his ears. Ianto twists to the side as wraithlike hands swipe at the air he had only just occupied a second before. He needs help bad, but all he can hear on the other end of his earpiece is the sound of hissing and footsteps echoing around an empty building.

_“Th-here’s nothing here.”_ Gwen’s voice rings out but that’s quite the opposite on the other side of the receiver. Ianto ducks once more, aiming his .34 caliber gun at (what he presumes is) the amalgamate shadow’s head, only to hear a weak click that sends his already panicked mind to an even more depressing conclusion. 

“Gwen-” Ianto barely manages her name before an earsplitting shriek sounds from his earpiece and he crumples to his knees, a high pitched whine vibrating in his ears. Whatever hope that had still remained at the pit of his stomach is quickly clawed out, a blinding white screen swarming into his vision like spilled milk on a blue carpet. 

_“Is she dead?”_ he makes out faintly through the whining of his earpiece.

_“Must be dead.”_

Ianto gasps, ripping out his earpiece as the blaring scream rings through his ear and sends shudders of pain through his chest. The tech snaps into two under the shadowy figure’s twisted foot as another amalgamate lifts him from the ground, sending spikes of black piercing through his abdomen.

 

And suddenly time stops, everything stops, in this one moment where he measures the distance between his body and the ground and pretends that everything will be okay, that the thirteen-inch spike of alien organism hasn’t just ripped into his chest like a knife melting through butter, that when this dream is over he’ll wake up with his sister at his side, crying her eyes out as Torchwood London goes up in flames all over again but on television, with the woman he loves sitting beside him with her hand in his and her eyes still alive and full of living, breathing, human emotion.

 

Then someone breathes in his ear and suddenly Ianto wishes he had saved a final bullet in the Glock for himself.

 

* * *

**Friday evening.**

 

Stumbling through black empty space was not what he envisioned to be the afterlife.

 

Lisa Hallett’s sudden appearance in the void he inhabits surprises him into backing away in fright as she extends a hand. The body she speaks in is hers and so is the blood red dress she wears, coupled with accessories Ianto remembers paying for in secret. Her silver bangles jingle, her smile is full of tinkling charm, and her eyes are a dark chocolate brown, looking at him in happiness and deep-seated love.

“Ianto Jones.” she speaks and it warms his heart just as much as it breaks him.  
“Lisa Hallett.” he nods, looking away to hide the tears that slowly well up in his eyes. He wants to tell her how much he loves her, how he so desperately wants to hold her in his arms again for one last time without her metallic frame, without Torchwood facilities burning in the background, without the cyberman bullshit that permanently screwed with his brain and haunted him for more than just a year’s worth of sleep. 

 

Instead he thinks of Jack, in all his charming brilliance, looking into Ianto’s eyes with a smile meant for him and him alone.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.” he murmurs, the words barely reaching his mouth. “You’re dead.”  
“Are you not?” She replies, head tilted to a side as she stares into his eyes.

He barely has a chance to reply before she flickers into non-existence, only the memory of her arrival casting a fading shadow where she once stood. Soon her perfumed skin and laughter dissolves into the smell of ash and flame and Ianto crumples to the ground, laying his head against what he thinks is the floor, closing his eyes to push away memories that were meant to be locked and shelved into the back of his head until the end of his time.

 

Is it sleep if you’re dead?

 

\- - -  


“You don’t know that!” A voice startles him into consciousness as the sound of an engine starting reverberates around him. Someone forcefully slams a car’s door shut and he can smell Gwen’s leather on his skin. 

“Jack.” He can hear Owen’s voice through gritted teeth as the doctor’s footsteps (he’s not sure how he knows but he does) follows Jack into the car. Someone’s gripping his back firmly, he’s not sure who and doesn’t care to ask, can’t ask either because of the pain the pain the pain, pain searing through his body and vibrating, throbbing in his chest and ripping him apart, sewing it together and then tearing open silver threads all over and over again, in a looped cycle of endless torment that’s how much how much it hurts-

 

He wants to sleep again.

 

\- - -

 

“Jack,” Tosh’s voice is unbearably loud, piercing the air like a broken microphone on maximum volume, blaring into his ear. _Not yet_ , he supposes. “He’s still breathing, I can feel it- Gwen, help me move him.”

 

Ghostly hands run their fingers through his hair, caressing his cheek as the sound of traffic and blaring Cardiff bustle vibrates around him. 

“I’m good, I’m okay.” his voice sounds clear in his head, but it comes out muffled and in a barely recognisable sentence.

 

“Hold on, Ianto.” someone whispers to him before their voices fall silent. “Don’t let go.”

 

\- - -

 

“Three, two, one… clear!” 

 

Electricity hums around him in darkness, flaring forward in a burst of light as Ianto gasps into consciousness. Owen is there at his side immediately, yelling something incomprehensible as a military trench coat swishes into eyeshot. 

“Ianto!” Someone calls him back to life but his voice is murky, echoed in the water like a soundless scream. Sounds pulsate around his ears, blaring incoherent things to him as his body is flooded with electricity, sending shocks up his spine as he shivers uncontrollably on the operating table. Someone grabs his hand forcefully, almost digging their fingers into his palm as Gwen holds down his thrashing legs and Tosh yells above them, her voice muted in his ears.

 

And yes, he knows his name, Ianto Jones-

Yes I know where I am, in “Cardiff, Wales I work for Torch- wood, Three, and I’m an administrative officer part-time field agent-”

And I’m “alive, the alien thing- attacked me- two, things, I’m okay-”

Don’t touch- me, don’t touch- 

 

His rambling is cut off suddenly by two burly trench-coat-covered arms wrapped so strongly around his abdomen that they cut off his air supply and he gasps in surprise, eyes still moist from blinking too much in the harsh light. 

“Jack!” Gwen shrieks, and it seems so childish, being held in someone’s arms while Owen rips medication off of his arms and Toshiko’s face is too close to his, her features blurred into a single colour as she asks are you alright are you alright are you alright

 

are you alright 

 

are you alright

 

\- - - 

 

He’s fine. 

 

There’s a hole in his abdomen reminiscent to hole-punched paper that doesn’t seem real, that makes him wonder why he hasn’t died yet but he’s breathing and he’s shaking and he’s-

 

Huh.

 

It’s a lot smaller than he assumed, but the blood seeping from the white dressing around his abdomen (might as well call it _red_ dressing) is incredibly damp and he wonders how Owen managed to keep him alive. The monitor to his left beeps at a regular pace and the light that shines above his blood crusted hair is harsh and blinding, as usual. He sits up this time, wincing at the throbbing pain that should have probably knocked him out.

 

A sudden shriek of surprise catches him off guard and he jolts, turning his head sharply to see who it is. A flurry of black hair and scrambled welsh syllables zip past him and he sighs weakly. Heart of the team.

“My god, Ianto!” She almost scolds, gently pushing him back onto the table. “Lie down or I’ll push you!”

“I’m fine,” he grudgingly obliges, leaning backwards and feeling the metallic surface of the table touch his skin again. “Just woke up.”

“Yeah, noticed.” she grumbles, taking his hand in hers. He’s never remembered her as being so up close and personal before, but then again, heart of the team. 

 

Ianto looks down, almost casually, at his stomach again. He wonders if egg and toast will ever feel the same. Gwen notices too, her grumbling expression softening to a determined look as she squeezes his hand.

“Everything’s going to be fine.” he laughs weakly at the comment.

“I wonder how long the pain’s going to last.” He replies. “You wouldn’t, knowing you.” She nods.

“Knowing me, I,” she laughs softly and Ianto waits. She breathes again and she stops. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, it’s not.” he shakes his head in agreement.

 

He asks of trivial things just to pass the time because he knows she feels uncomfortable around him, here, right now as he lies on an operating table with a hole in his chest and sweat and pain radiating from his body- most of it’s gone now, but that doesn’t mean it’s completely disappeared.

_How was everyone_ and _What did I miss_ , casual things that don’t amount to anything important but comfort him in that normal, scheduled way that life should work. 

_But it doesn’t,_ he remembers. _Because you’re not normal._

And he moves on to better things.

 

Owen left with Tosh to get supplies, _something like that,_ she says after he’s asked, and he doesn’t question her anymore. 

“Jack?” He asks somewhat casually, even though really it’s not casual, even though he really _really_ wants to know but she looks away, averting his eyes with a slightly troubled look as she bites her lip and furrows her brow. 

“Um.” she trembles on the ‘um’, twiddling with the papery blanket that covers his legs and shrugging halfheartedly. Ianto knows before the words even reach her lips.

“Has he killed them yet?” he murmurs.

“Doing it now, I think.” she replies, her voice cracking as she speaks. She’s not the type to break down crying- never will, and he knows that just as well as he knows everyone else. 

 

Watching and learning, observing the movements and tics of his teammates. That’s what he’s always done, before Jack looked at him one day and decided he was worth spending time with, before he screamed until his throat hurt, cried until his eyes fell out of his face and melted into a worthless puddle on the ground as a delivery-girl called out his name once, just once, in a way that no one ever could. He was silent, unresponsive, accepting shy attempts at friendship but not reciprocating. Not that those characteristics made a difference to the team.

 

And then she came along.

 

Gwen is - like fire to his ice, and they’ve barely exchanged glances but he knows her better than she will ever know herself. There is love in her eyes when she speaks of Rhys, and something deeper at the tip of her tongue when she looks Jack in the eye and tells him to _be careful, be safe,_ knowing he never will. Unlike Tosh she is wild, unafraid, and confident in the way she walks; talks; looks. Unlike Owen she’s kind, she smiles with a gap tooth and her smile makes the sun look dim. Unlike the mysterious, charming Jack she is bursting with news, the need to share and talk about herself, her life and her love and her everything. She’s perfect and he hates her sometimes.

 

“I don’t talk to you often.” she says suddenly.

“You don’t have to.” he shrugs. 

“I know.” she looks away. After a while she straightens the folds on his shirt and removes his bandages, replacing them with newer, whiter ones. The silence is excruciating and the tiny, audible blips of the monitor don’t help much either. 

 

“I’m sorry.” she says finally, to fill the emptiness more than anything.

“Don’t be.” he replies.

 

* * *

 

**Saturday afternoon.**

 

Jack is not okay.

 

_“The immortal.”_ They hiss at him like a monster- and he is, in his own special, disgusting way - retreating into bushes, cracks and anywhere they can still hide. There are few now, without the night’s darkness to feed them energy and the moon’s dim glow to hide them within the forest shadows. The sun is strong today.

“Yeah.” Jack speaks, voice cold and etched with poison malice. “That’s me.” In response, the creature cries, a shrill, piercing cry that he’d much rather have heard three days ago.

_“We’ve been told stories…”_ Black tendrils of shadow lash out of the trees in pairs, frighteningly erratic movements that jitter in the sunlight. _“Bad stories.”_

“Well,” Jack almost laughs a bitter laugh, storming towards the entity with nothing but bullets and a knife that he thinks, he _hopes_ , will kill them. “They’re about to get worse.”

 

It takes less time than he originally thought and they don’t get a chance to retreat before the pain overwhelms them and their screeches are blown away in the afternoon wind. Jack doesn’t know how many times he’s had to use this knife or gun but he knows to shoot- shoot to kill and stab to hurt. That’s all he’s ever known.

 

Anger becomes fury- mindless, livid screaming as a madman in a trench coat destroys, completely annihilates, what is left an alien, its amalgamate body strewn across the floor as liquid blood and broken pieces. The crimson stains dilute to a faint reddish-pink as rain begins to fall and Jack’s rage and thirst for vengeance ( _Over what? There’s no meaning to this anymore)_ is quenched, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and shooting, over and over again until it’s done, it was done, _it’s already over why are you still here-_

 

until he’s stabbing at dead air.

 

\- - -

 

The first thing he does on that Sunday afternoon, after arriving back at the Hub with blood on his chest and alien goo in his hair, is kiss Ianto Jones.

 

Tosh stayed with him in the end, sitting on a chair at his side with a laptop on her lap, typing away as Ianto slowly recovered through the gentle sounds of her tapping fingers and little clicks of the touchpad.

“Go.” he nods to her as she scrambles to her feet, almost falling asleep with eyes half-lidded and picks up her bag, scampering to the exit. Owen and Gwen have already gone, Gwen- insisting to stay before Owen dragged her away from Ianto’s side and out of the room. They all know she stayed for Jack, she’s always staying for Jack, and she knows this too. They don’t blame her. They’ve already done their fair share of waiting.

 

When Ianto feels Jack’s lips on his skin he can’t complain about the smell of him, or the bloody, metallic taste of his teeth as he runs his tongue past his lips because it’s been a while since they’ve kissed like this. 

“What happened?” he murmurs once they break apart, Jack’s hand stroking his right temple and gazing softly into his eyes. 

“Nothing important.” Jack replies and Ianto laughs.

“Tell me what you did.”  


He does.

 

\- - -

 

Nothing changes in the morning.

 

_And_ , Ianto thinks to himself as he leans over to kiss the spot between Jack’s closed eyes, _nothing needs to change._

 

( _Torchwood,_ Ianto reminds himself as he watches Jack turn and mumble in his sleep, wrapping an arm around the man before he falls off their bed, _Torchwood expects you to get yourself killed_.)

 

* * *

 

 

Sun rises.

 

They lie together in quiet, curled up against soft blankets draped haphazardly across their chests as dawn breaks against a silhouetted mountain through Ianto’s curtained windows. The navy morning sky sifts into a lighter saxe blue as light begins to illuminate the room; the sun rises as rays of yellow light split into fours through the frames of the window.

 

“S’morning.” Ianto mumbles, and Jack reluctantly agrees. The sky is as beautiful as the man curled up against his body, eyelashes tickling his cheek, breath cooling the skin that flares up in heat every time they touch. Prettier still, Jack notes, as he watches Ianto turn on his side, back arching as he stretches and basks in the light’s warm glow. 

 

Not even the burning sun can make him look away. 

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to write about Gwen, even though i sort of dislike her.  
> tosh and owen are already (imo) incredible characters and while gwen was unique in her own way she was also bloody annoying
> 
> haha.


End file.
